


If Death is to Do Us Part

by ZadieWrites



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Bad Elvish Translations, But I Am Trying, Elves Are Thots, Elvish Names Are Hard, Everyone Is Poly Unless Explicitly Stated Otherwise, F/M, I'm Actually Doing A Straight Ship, I'm Sorry To That Random Tumblr User for Stealing the Name You Used for Thranduil's Wife, Me Developing Thranduil's Fridged Wife, Not Canon Compliant, Oropher Is Kind Of A Dick But He Tries, Pre-The Hobbit, Slow Burn, elf drama, f/m - Freeform, multi-ship, prince Thranduil, will get angsty, you know how it goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-09 14:38:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18640135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZadieWrites/pseuds/ZadieWrites
Summary: This is a slowburn multichapter, dedicated to developing Thranduil's relationship with his wife before their marriage, pre-Hobbit movies.Prince Thranduil slowly falling in love with the captain of the Greenwood guard, Ellerian, and her eventually allowing herself to love him back.They're both polyamorous disaster bisexuals who are afraid of being hurt.





	1. Chapter 1: Swordplay's an Odd Craft for a Pointy-Ear to Take Up

**Author's Note:**

> So, first of all, there's some canon things that are not quite accurate. For example, why is Elrond ruling Imladris if Oropher's still alive? The answer is, I really stopped caring. These first couple chapters could be rocky, this is my first long fic I'll be actually posting, that I have a plan for and everything.  
> (Yeah for this first chapter you're gonna have to put up with some bad canon-related stuff.)

The council of elves was sitting down at a table in Greenwood. Oropher looked around the table. Ellerian, Celeborn, Celebrian, Haldir, Elrond . . . he cursed. 

 

“Where is my son.” he muttered, not even asking it in a questioning tone. 

 

Celebrian chuckled. 

 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The clang of metal surrounded throughout the tiny shop as a short man whom one may mistake for a dwarf were he not clean-shaven, slammed a long leather bag onto the wooden counter. 

 

“6 feet. Pure steel.” the man said. 

 

Thranduil smirked and unzipped the black leather that encased it to reveal a glimmering, long, blade with a straight edge, and a slight curve. It had no tip, as weapons from the East often didn’t. He gripped it’s glossy, black, laquered handle, and swung it. He could hear the wind rushing against the blade, a beautifully deadly sound. Beautifully deadly, like him. 

 

“It’s gorgeous.” he whispered.

 

“You know . . . swordplay’s an odd craft for a pointy-ear to take up. ‘Specially a royal one.” the trader grunted.

 

Thranduil narrowed his piercing blue eyes and brought the end of the sword against the man’s neck. “Call me that again and I will show you just how good I am with this sword.” 

 

The other shrugged and raised his calloused hands. “Alright, yer highness, whatever you say.” 

 

The elven prince slid the sword back inside its elegant sheath and held it in his hand. With the added length of the handle, it was almost seven feet long. Then he paid the trader in gold and silver. 

 

“Thank you.” he added, curtly, leaving the small, shady building, blade in hand. 

 

Thranduil liked swords (a lot) and he never had taken to archery like his father had. King Oropher still hoped he’d become an archer but Thranduil kept buying swords in back alleys and visiting strange blacksmiths who worked for mainly criminals. Thranduil wasn’t a criminal, but he didn’t exactly want to be seen outside of Greenwood, especially with the addition of his father’s disapproval in this practice. 

 

Thranduil returned to the boundaries of Greenwood, and he entered the forest castle, walking up carved wooden stairs made out of great tree branches . . . and then an elf stepped in front of him. 

 

“Your father wants you to attend his council.” the elf informed him, glancing at the sword at his hip. 

 

Thranduil huffed. “Very well.” he agreed to attend this meeting, and he did so, without putting the blade away. So Thranduil walked into the room with a seven-foot sword in his hand. And sat down like he wasn’t late at all. 

 

Oropher pinned his son with a hard stare which Thranduil tried to ignore. 

 

“Glad you could bother to join us.” the king stated. 

 

Celebrian’s eyes were focused on the sword. She and Thranduil were relatively close, and rarely got to see one another. She too, liked swords, and liked to look at new specimens her cousin had acquired every time they visited one another. They liked to swordfight too. Silvan elves were known for their competitive spirit, and tended to turn most anything into a competition.

 

“I highly doubt any of us are oblivious to the growing darkness within the heart of Middle-Earth.” Elrond said, beginning, without greetings, or foreplay.

 

“Does it affect Greenwood?” Thranduil questioned, before anyone else could reply. 

 

“It affects everyone.” 

 

“Darkness is a bit of a vague classification, don’t you think?” 

 

“It regards . . . the lost rings of the first age.” 

 

“How do you know about this?” Oropher questioned. 

 

“The lady of Lothlorien has told me.” 

 

“Explain exactly why she couldn’t bother to show up.” Thranduil questioned. 

 

“Galadriel is a busy woman . . . she is away on business. And that is all she has permitted me to disclose. She has sent Haldir and Celeborn in her place.” 

 

“Must she be so cryptic?!” 

 

“Must you lose your temper at petty problems?” Oropher asked his son. 

 

Thranduil opened his mouth to argue, only to realize that doing so would prove his father’s point. So he just stared, with a look of offense reflected on his face. 

 

“All I am saying is that, there is substantial proof that war is coming. War at its blackest. At its most soulless.” 

 

“War over what, exactly?” Ellerian questioned. 

 

“Who . . . are you?” Elrond questioned. 

 

“Captain Ellerian Lillus, of the royal Greenwood guard, Lord Elrond. King Oropher has asked me to be here.” the she-elf replied. 

 

Elrond flicked a glance to Oropher, who nodded in confirmation. 

 

“Very well.” the elf agreed. “To answer your question, Captain, it will be a war over many things. I only propose that we war to defend our lands and our lives.”

 

“Who is the ‘we’ in this situation?” 

 

“. . . as many armies of elves and men as we can amass.” 

 

“And why should Greenwood assist?” 

 

“Did I not already explain- this will eventually infect Greenwood in the way it will infect everything else. I suspect it has already began to.” 

 

“If it had, I would know.” Ellerian told him, defensively. 

 

“Calm yourself, Ellerian.” advised Oropher. 

 

“I am not insulting Greenwood’s defenses-” Elrond began to say before being interrupted by the captain saying,

 

“Well, I should hope not. Given the fact that I am Greenwood’s defenses.” 

 

“You and about a hundred other elves.” commented Oropher. 

 

Ellerian sat back with a light huff. 

 

Thranduil would be lying if he said he didn’t tune some of the conversation that commenced out. A recurring theme in conversation was war, death . . . and a lot of arguing. Ellerian was the type of elf who would more than willingly clash swords and bows with almost anyone. Especially over her kingdom, which she was fiercely loyal to. 

 

So, naturally, she started multiple arguments, Oropher silencing her every time, exasperated. 

 

“. . . I’m not going to react immediately. The symptoms you have presented will have to be more extreme before I risk elf lives over this.” Oropher stated, after about an hour of talking, and not really getting anywhere. 

 

“I would not expect you to. I only meant to warn you. War is coming. But not soon. May be in a decade. Maybe in a hundred decades. But a darkness is growing and it will try to consume us all.” Elrond said. 

 

“I think we get the idea, Elrond.” Thranduil commented.

 

“Have I bored you? Have I bored you by taking an hour of the time I’m sure you spend very valuably-” Elrond punctuated this with a glance at the sword in Thranduil’s hand. “To inform you of the impending doom of the world as we know it?” 

 

Thranduil stood up, smirking at him, as he held his weapon. “Yes.” he replied, and then the elven prince walked away.

 

He stalked down the halls and into his chamber, where he hung the sword up on the wall. He heard footsteps behind him, and turned around, subsequently . . . he turned around. Celebrian stood in the doorway. She smiled at him. 

 

“Are you alright?” she asked him in her soft voice. 

 

“. . . I’m fine. What makes you think otherwise?” 

 

“. . . you stormed off.” 

 

“I hardly stormed off. I retreated. I had heard all I needed to hear.” 

 

“. . . my husband means well. Though he can seem . . . overbearing at times.” said his cousin. 

 

“He called this meeting, over what seems like nothing at the moment. Obviously the guard and I have seen . . . the signs. We understand that something is . . . amiss. I did not feel like we needed to be reminded of that.” 

 

She wrapped her arms around him. As half high elf, she was almost as tall as him. But she was also half Silvan. And that part of her was very physically affectionate. Thranduil was a Silvan elf, hence how they were related. But those who spoke Sindar were driven out of Doriath a long time ago. 

 

“How about you come into the woods with me and show me that blade of yours? I’m bringing Ellerian and Haldir, since I never get to see either of them.” 

 

“. . . alright then.” 

 

She flashed a bright smile and held out her hand, “Come on, then.” 

 

“I know my own way around, thank you.” he told her, walking past her. 

 

“Fine. Be stubborn. I’ll meet you with the captain.” 

 

Ellerian was escorting Celebrian outside of the castle’s wooden walls, heading out to the Greenwood forest. 

 

“Captain, I want to apologize for my husband. He is a passionate elf, willing to risk anything for the overall good of Middle-Earth.” Celebrian told Ellerian. 

 

“I’ve learned that if you try to save the world, you will fail, and it will crush you. So I focus on saving only one small part of the world. I’ve dedicated my life to Greenwood. And Rivendell should understand mine, and my king’s reluctance to risk our forces for something that could be a wild goose chase.” 

 

“I understand. I admire you.” 

 

“Why?” questioned Ellerian as they walked through the forest, brushing away branches in their wake. 

 

“Willing to dedicate everything to your kingdom . . . even I have split loyalties at times. I was born in Lothlorien.” 

 

“So I’ve heard. You were the Lady’s daughter.” 

 

“Yes. And I fully intended to stay in Lothlorien but . . . love had other plans.” after a quiet moment, with only birdsong and a light breeze to interrupt the silence, Celebrian spoke again, in a playful tone; “What about you? Is there anyone special in your life?” 

 

“. . . I’m mainly focused on my work, your majesty.” Ellerian responded after a minute. 

 

“Is there anyone you’d like to get to know?” 

 

“. . . no one that I would ever stand any chance with.” 

 

Celebrian’s eyes lit up. “So there is someone.” 

 

“Perhaps, but I am not actively looking for anything with that person.” 

 

She smiled. “What is their name?” 

 

“. . . it would be in their own best interests that I keep that a secret, if you will permit me to, my lady.” 

 

“. . . I will respect both of your privacy.” 

 

They stopped when they saw Haldir and Thranduil, arguing in a clearing over which was more effective; a sword or a bow. 

 

“You don’t have the same range with a blade!” Haldir was insisting. 

 

“But you don’t have a chance of missing.” Thranduil responded, calmly. 

 

“Missing is only a problem for people that have bad aim.” 

 

“I’ve seen you miss.”

 

“If you’ve seen me miss, I missed on purpose.” 

 

“Surely this isn’t necessary.” said Celebrian, stepping into the clearing. 

 

“Your cousin and I were just discussing how he only uses a sword because he’s a bad shot.” Haldir told her.

 

“Keep in mind, I never denied that.” the prince commented, coolly. 

 

“A sharp tip is a sharp tip, it doesn’t matter if one’s sharper.” Ellerian told them. 

 

“Hannaid, Ellerian-hest.” Thranduil thanked her in Sindarin.

 

“Can! The sword! Can I hold it?” questioned the Lady of Imladris. 

 

“You certainly can, cousin.” he grinned as he slid all six feet of solid steel out of the sheath that trapped it. 

 

It was extraordinarily light for what it was, he noted inwardly, as he handed over the shining piece of metal. 

 

Celebrian’s eyes gleamed in excitement as she took the sword and immediately swung it over Thranduil’s head, making it woosh. 

 

She let out a thrilled laugh. “It’s massive!” 

 

“Anyone who needs a sword that long is compensating for something.” said Haldir, with a slight smirk. 

 

“Hush. I did not drag myself out of Rivendell and through the woods just to hear you two bicker like elflings.” Celebrian told them, halfheartedly as her gaze was focused on the sword, the beautiful weapon. A weapon which shimmered like the diamonds that were currently around his neck, and sliced into the air, gracefully. 

 

As the four of them were conversing about swordplay and gossip from all three of their kingdoms, (Celebrian was very interested to know what had been going on in Lothlorien since she left it) and they kept tossing the sword between one another, getting deep into a discussion of its properties.


	2. Captains Don't Grow On Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil's not a morning elf and Ellerian is a cocky little bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It makes me very happy to get a headstart and publish two chapters at once. This was a lot of fun for me, and a lot more fun and lighthearted than the last one.

Thranduil woke up to a pillow being thrown at his face. He groaned and buried his face in the pillow. 

 

“Come patrol with me.” Ellerian’s voice said. 

 

“. . . are you sure you need me?” he questioned. 

 

“I think it would be good for you. Besides, you haven’t gotten out in a week.”

 

“You sound like my father.” replied the elven prince, his voice muffled by the fabric and fluff of the pillow. 

 

Then Thranduil felt a hard, small object, slam into his side. 

 

“What the fuck was that?” he asked, sitting up and tossing the pillow onto the wooden floor. 

 

“A wooden bowl. I will throw harder and harder objects until you get up and patrol with me, your highness.” 

 

He glanced at the window, looking out at the dew dripping off of rich green leaves and the pink light of the sunrise lining the clouds. 

 

“I can guarantee the only reason you’re talking to me that way right now is because my father told you to do this.” Thranduil stated.

 

“You’re right. The king is concerned.” she said. “Now get up.”

 

The prince muttered a curse. “As long as I don’t have to put on armor.” 

 

“You shouldn’t have to. The perimeter should be safe.” she informed him. 

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

“No living creature should be awake this early.” complained Thranduil, leaning on a tree as Ellerian and the rest of the patrol arrived. 

 

There was Vie, a she-elf who was the runner-up behind Ellerian for the best archer in the guard, Calaidh, a male elf Thranduil knew only from other patrols and battles he’d been in with the guard, and Aesther, who Thranduil knew because he was Greenwood’s primary messenger. Aesther was a nervous elf and Thranduil was pretty sure he was a bit younger than him by a few hundred years. 

 

Caraidh was more than ready to go, he was practically jittering, tossing a long, wooden arrow from one hand to the other. Thranduil hated morning people.

 

“I hope we see orcs today.” Caraidh announced. 

 

“Pray to Valar that we don’t.” Vie chided. 

 

“But I’ve always wanted to see one!” the archer replied. 

 

Ellerian cut in between them before Vie could argue. 

 

“Alright, let’s go!” the captain said, one long, slender arm pointing into the woods.

 

She had her silver hair tied in one, long braid at the back of her head, instead of the long hair with two braids tied in the back of one’s head, which was the standard hairstyle for elven members of the guard. He knew that she claimed it was less prone to being grabbed in a fight. Thranduil refused to do anything with his hair at all. He used to but he fairly recently decided to stop bothering with it anymore. 

 

Ellerian and the three members of the guard were all wearing a uniform, a brown tunic over green pants, but Thranduil was wearing all black. Technically he should have been wearing a uniform as well while he was working, but he didn’t exactly love browns and greens. At least not awful, ruddy greens like the one that those trousers were in. Maybe a vibrant, spring green. And brown was a horrible color that no one should ever wear and one that Thranduil wouldn’t be caught dead in. 

 

The group began to move through the woods, heading to the end of Greenwood’s territory. It was the season of spring, so the forest was teeming with new life. Birds chirped, enthusiastically as they fluttered from branch to branch on the still-a-bit-leafless trees. And elves, with their heightened hearing, could hear every animal call and every whisper of the trees. At least spring was the best season. 

 

As the group approached the edge of the territory, Ellerian stopped them in their path. 

 

“Dar!” said the captain in the tone she used for commands. 

 

The group froze like she ordered them to. She slid one arrow out of her quiver and rested it against her bow. 

 

“Ungol.” whispered Ellerian. 

 

Thranduil wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword. 

 

Translation: Spiders. 

 

Aesther let out a scream as he whipped around. “It’s behind me!” the messenger shrieked. 

 

There was a spider up to the elf’s waist behind him, a silken layer of white hair lining its spindly legs and dripping mandibles. 

 

Thranduil whipped out his sword and Ellerian immediately fired an arrow into its mouth. But before the spider had even finished shrieking in pain, three other spiders had appeared behind the trees, mouths open and gaping like caves. 

 

She notched another arrow, Vie did the same and Caraidh threw his dagger at the biggest spider. He missed. 

 

“That’s not meant to be thrown!” Ellerian told him, in a stressed tone. 

 

“I panicked!” Caraidh replied, holding his hands up. 

 

Then the spider lunged at Caraidh, shoving him up against a large, mossy boulder with its frontmost pair of legs. The elven warrior groaned and kicked at its fangs, until he’s pinned against the rock, with his strained legs, frantically pushing back the spider. 

 

Thranduil ran at the spider, jumping up, and plunging his sword into the spider, black blood immediately pooling in the enormous wound he had created as the spider let out a scream so high it was barely detectable. He was also aware the sword stopped inside the spider’s flesh right before it would have hit between Caraidh’s legs. 

 

The prince put one boot on the spider’s midsection, gripping the sword, and yanking it out of the insect’s body, causing black blood to spray everywhere, getting on the trees, on the forest floor, and in his hair. Perhaps there were some benefits to tying back ones hair during a battle. 

 

Then he helped Caraidh up, and they turned back to their comrades. There was only one spider left, with Aesther riding on its back being thrashed back and forth, screaming in elvish while Ellerian tried to get a good shot and while Vie shouted “advice” to a petrified Aesther. 

 

“To hell with the bow!” announced Ellerian, tossing her bow and arrow to the ground and pulling out a knife out of her belt-loop. 

 

Ellerian ran at the spider, holding its jaws back with her bare hands, the transparent venom, rubbing on her hands, but she would be fine unless it reached her blood stream. She screamed at the effort of preventing the spider from slamming its mandibles shut on her hands. 

 

Thranduil felt like he should help her, but he found himself captivated by her demonstration of strength. 

 

He heard Aesther grunting from atop the spider’s abdomen, and a quick glance showed him that the messenger elf was beating the arachnid’s head with his bare fists, hardly affecting the creature, mainly because the spider was largely preoccupied with Ellerian, prying open its jaws. 

 

Vie ran in front of her captain and the spider. She grabbed an arrow, notched it, took aim . . . she held her arms steady, and then she released. The arrow fired, and it flew just underneath Ellerian’s arm, cutting her tunic and flying into the creature’s open mouth, hitting its gullet. Ellerian’s eyebrows raised, and she gritted her teeth, as she released the spider’s jaws, and they immediately snapped together, white venom splashing on the ground. 

 

The spider screamed and collapsed to the ground, its eight, long, sectioned legs curling up underneath it, as it went stiff and died. 

 

Aesther happily jumped off the spider’s corpse, his fists stained with black insectoid blood. 

 

Thranduil used his black cape to clean the blood off his sword, and then sheathed it, as Ellerian picked up her bow and slid the arrow she had dropped down in the quiver, causing the other arrows to rattle together. 

 

The elves took a moment of silence, to catch their breath and process the attack that had commenced. 

 

“These ones were closer to the castle than ever. They’re getting braver.” determined Ellerian, through panting breaths. 

 

Her fair face was streaked with black blood and her fingers were a bright red, still, frictionized from holding back the spider. She slipped her small knife back onto her belt, as she hadn’t needed it after all. 

 

“Do we go back?” inquired Vie.

 

“Not yet, we finish patrolling, after all, there might be more.” the captain said. 

 

As they started walking again, tracking through the forest, Aesther immediately begun to fall behind. That wasn’t all that unique for Aesther, but not this drastically. He was limping. 

 

“Ial, Aesther. Are you alright?” asked Vie. 

 

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine,” replied the messenger. “It must be from the spider.” 

 

“Surely not a bite though, right?” 

 

“No.” he shook his raven head.

 

Most of the patrol was uneventful. They stopped for a bit to discuss climbing a very large tree, with a trunk around four feet wide all around, and at least seventy feet high. 

 

“I dare anyone to climb this tree.” announced Caraidh. 

 

The other four elves folded their arms, looking up the oak’s massive trunk. 

 

“Well, I can’t climb it because of my leg.” Aesther told the archer. 

 

“I won’t climb it because I feel this is wasting time.” Vie said, in a bitter tone with a scowl on her face.

 

Caraidh looked to Thranduil and Ellerian with his warm brown eyes. 

 

“What about you, Thranduil?” he asked the prince. 

 

“Me? Climb this tree? I might break a nail.” Thranduil replied, examining his hands.

 

“Captain! You’re the last one! Are you a pigeon like the rest of them?” Caraidh questioned, tauntingly. 

 

Ellerian took her quiver of arrows off, the leather strip slipping off her shoulders, and placed it on the ground. Then she did the same with her bow. 

 

“I am no pigeon.” she stated, her blue eyes narrowing in determination. 

 

She took several steps back, then ran at the tree. She wrapped all four of her limbs around its girth, tightening her thighs as firm as they would go. There were no branches near the bottom, therefore this was the only method that would enable her to scale the plant. 

 

“Captain, I don’t think you should attempt this-” Thranduil started to tell her. 

 

“I strongly disagree, she should definitely attempt this.” Caraidh said. 

 

Ellerian began to push herself up the tree with her legs, scraping layers of brown bark in her wake. Within a few minutes, she had gotten about six feet up, which was actually relatively impressive, given that she was inching her way up, slowly. 

 

After ten minutes she had made it up twenty feet, so she could reach the first branch. She grabbed the branch with one hand and released her legs’ grip on the tree, using the tree to kick off, and swing herself onto the branch. From then it was easy; she jumped to the next branch, then the next one, she didn’t even need her hands to do it, and she continued hopping from one branch to another like a squirrel until she reached the top part, with branches too scrawny to hold her. 

 

“Hai!” she shouted, victoriously, as her patrol glanced up at her from the bottom of the tree. 

 

“Don’t fall, captains of guards don’t grow on trees.” commented Thranduil. 

 

As Ellerian was fooling around up there, relishing in her achievement, another giant black spider dropped down from a huge, thick thread of spider silk, landing on the ground, the web disintegrating as it dropped down onto the soil. It immediately came for Aesther. It was big, the size of a cow, with eight, piercing red eyes to match its eight freckled legs, which made a scuffling sound as it kicked up dirt. 

 

Aesther fell, and couldn’t make a proper getaway because of his legs. The spider reared up, shrieking, waving four long legs in his terrified face. 

 

Before Aesther’s fellow elves on the ground could save him, the spider immediately was pinned onto the ground, with a sharp, short blade, sticking through its chest. Aesther looked around to see who his savior was . . . 

 

Ellerian was crouched on top of the spider, holding her knife, which was deeply embedded in the arachnid’s head. She had jumped all the way down from the top of the tree, the knife in her hand and had landed right on the spider. 

 

She jerked out the knife. “Oh. I suppose I did need that knife after all.” she remarked, calmly, standing up on the spider’s corpse and stepping off it, and spinning the knife in her hand a few times before placing it back in her belt-loop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you so much for reading! Constructive criticism is appreciated but the one thing I would not like to be criticized on is my inaccuracy to canon timelines, since I'm already aware of those flaws. Everything else is free to rip on, guys. 
> 
> (PS: I love that I got the chance to use the word "Mandibles" I love that word it's so gross)


	3. Little Selfish Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elves are thots and I foreshadow things.

Warmth soaked into Ellerian’s bare back, as she woke up, laying on her stomach on her bed. She glanced out of the open window, which had a light spring breeze blowing through it. Judging by the position of the shining sun, it was about ten o’clock. Which meant the captain had overslept by quite a lot. 

 

At first, she felt a lump of worry form in her stomach, but when she glanced at the woman beside her . . . it was difficult to continue being concerned. She would probably be fine, missing one training session . . . 

 

Lady Celebrian’s arm was around Ellerian’s waist, as she lay on her side. Both of them were completely unclothed, Ellerian’s tunic and trousers laying on her floor, and Celebrian’s white dress tucked under the bed in a lacy, silky pile. 

 

Ellerian felt a pair of soft, rose-petal-like lips touch her shoulder. Her bedmate was awake. 

 

“I thought you were never going to wake.” murmured the elf of Imladris, who leaned over Ellerian, and began kissing her bicep and shoulder. 

 

The elf of Greenwood laid down on her back, rolling her shoulders once and twice, pushing her shoulderblades into the mattress as a means to force herself to relax. 

 

Celebrian rolled face-down, so she was on top of Ellerian, their legs weaved in between each other, and her hands on either side of the captain’s face. This gave Ellerian an excellent view of the other she-elf’s face, delicate and beautiful, her Silvan blood showing through her icy eyes and her pale hair. 

 

“I leave for Imladris in an hour.” Celebrian informed her, combing her fingers through Ellerian’s hair. 

 

“And I should have been training two hours ago. You should not have let me sleep.” stated the captain. 

 

“You seem like a person who needs their rest.” 

 

“Yes, but if the other guards are going to lose sleep, I feel I should lose the same amount of sleep.” 

 

“It’s okay to be selfish sometimes. Over the little things.” Celebrian told her. 

 

Ellerian smiled, looking into her eyes and pressing her lips to hers. 

 

“Was this a little selfish thing?” she whispered, pulling away, just inches. 

 

“Yes. And I’d have loved to do it again but I must go.” 

 

“Now?” questioned Ellerian. 

 

“Well . . . maybe one more round.” said the Lady with a smirk, gripping Ellerian’s hand and pulling her under the covers again, the sheets completely hiding them. 

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Thranduil also woke up next to someone in his bed that morning, but with a throbbing hangover. He glanced at the elf in his bed. The elf was facing away from him and from the back a lot of guards kind of look the same,(he suspected it was a guard because of their well-muscled back and shoulders) so he couldn’t really tell. Until they rolled over on their back. 

 

Caraidh laid their, his dark brown hair spread out across the pillow and his shoulders. His brown eyes flicked towards Thranduil. 

 

“Oh . . .” he seemed surprised. Though it wasn’t the first time he and the prince had bedded together. 

 

Thranduil had slept with so many members of the guard he’d long since lost track. Caraidh was one of the few he’d slept with more than once. And he had been so drunk last night he couldn’t remember who was on top or bottom. 

 

“It’s strange,” the guard began. “I remember you fucking me but I don’t remember getting into your bed.” 

 

Thranduil was relieved and satisfied to learn that he had been on top. Not that Caraidh could ever top someone anyway, the elf was relatively weak in bed sober, he must have been a limp rag when he was intoxicated. Thranduil slept with him repeatedly because Caraidh was surprisingly discreet when it came to relationships. The elf would give away just about any secret but he would never disregard the privacy of those he climbed into bed with, and Thranduil not only admired that, but he needed that. 

 

Sure Thranduil was aware that people knew he was slutty, but he still felt the less they, especially his father, knew the better. 

 

“I don’t even remember that much.” Thranduil replied in a groan. 

 

Caraidh sat up in the bed, and as he stretched his muscles rippled down his bicep and down his ribs. 

 

“I want you to leave.” Thranduil told him. 

 

“Yeah, I probably should.” agreed the archer, getting up and searching for his clothes. 

 

Thranduil tossed him his tunic which had been shoved in between his bed and the wall. Caraidh pulled it on.The prince had to admit to himself he was a bit sad to see those muscles disappear but he wanted him out of his bedroom. 

 

“And could you . . . make it less obvious you came straight from my bedroom?” he asked him. 

 

“I always do.” huffed Caraidh, sitting down on the bed to pull on his boots. 

 

Thranduil sat up, holding the covers to his chest with one hand, even though he didn’t really have to, the guard had most definitely seen him naked before sometimes even when he was sober, though that was less common. 

 

Caraidh stood up. “Thanks for a great time, as always. Even if I don’t really remember it. You’re never exactly bad in bed so I’m assuming I had a great time.” 

 

Thranduil waited around a half hour until Caraidh had left before he started getting up himself. For them both to leave at the same time would be suspicious. That and he hadn’t really wanted to get up. 

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Ellerian had swung open the door to the kitchens. She had missed breakfast with the rest of the guard and she was going to have to find something. Soil, alone would not satisfy her. What she did not expect was to find someone already there, especially another guard. 

 

“Caraidh?” she questioned. The guard was eating a tomato in the corner of the room. Why he would not just bring the fruit outside of the kitchen, she did not know. 

 

“Captain!” Caraidh said through a mouthful of tomato.

 

She stared at him for a moment, standing on the cement floors of the kitchen. His hair was rumpled, he was wearing the clothes he had been wearing last night and his eyes were bleary. Not to mention the red marks on his neck and collarbone. She had known he would be hungover from the way he was drinking last night, but he wasn’t just hungover. 

 

And who was she to judge? She was a mess as well, with her tangled silver hair in a ponytail, and her shirt torn. Though she had been fully sober last night. That was probably the part that most excited her. Every time she reflected on her night with the Lady of Imladris, the temperature in her gut rose and her heart fluttered. 

 

“You were late to practice as well?” she inquired, walking up to the basket of tomatoes and taking one for herself. 

 

“Yes, captain. I apologize.” he replied, his voice containing the ever so slight shake of nervousness.

 

“. . . I couldn’t possibly be upset at you. I should be the earliest of all of you.” Ellerian told him, truthfully. She felt irresponsible for letting herself sleep in, and though the clouds of apprehension in Caraidh’s brown eyes signified he believed she was angry at him for missing practice, she had no right to be. 

 

For a moment, the two of them stood in silence, eating produce and it was a nice moment. Ellerian spent an enormous amount of her time with the guard, but it was rare she got any time with one alone. She didn’t sleep with the other guards, she would never do that, because she could ruin her relationship with almost anyone, family, superiors, friends, but her brothers and sisters in arms? 

 

Relationships were complicated. Sleeping with someone immediately complicates any bond or friendship you’d had with them. You start questioning whether they enjoyed you, whether you enjoyed them. You start asking yourself whether or not it was going to lead to anything more than sex, and if it does, dear Varda what then? 

 

Actual full-fledged relationships were extremely messy, especially in Ellerian’s experience. Her last long-term romantic relationship ended over four years ago. And that one was with the librarian’s assistant, Quelila, a beautiful she-elf, with definite Teleri blood somewhere in her genes. If Ellerian was still being honest, she would admit there was a reason she hadn’t moved on from Quelila yet. 

 

Then the door swung open again, the silence interrupted, as the door slammed back into place. 

 

“You two! Out of my kitchen!” a voice said behind them. 

 

Ellerian whipped around to see the main cook, Lorn, a very tall senior elf with dark hair, pointing in the direction of the exit. 

 

Caraidh dropped what remained of his tomato onto the floor, then felt bad about it, but also felt threatened by Lorn, so he just ran out the door. Ellerian threw her hands up, as she picked up what remained of his tomato for him, since she wasn’t going to leave the mess for Lorn, who had enough to stress about most of the time, to clean up. Everyone had a lot of respect for him. 

 

“I am sorry.” she confessed. 

 

“Please just get in the habit of keeping some extra food in your own quarters. You do have cupboards. Use them!” insisted the cook. 

 

She nodded and shoved the rest of the tomato in her mouth, barely being able to close her lips around it. Then she retreated out of the room. 

 

Ellerian ran up a flight of wooden stairs, leaping onto the flight in front of her. A benefit to not having handrails was being able to jump from staircase to staircase as if they were tree branches with no hindrance. 

 

She headed to the armory and grabbed her bow. It was long, and carved out of the pale wood of a birch. It was delicately carved by Quelila . . . sometimes when the two of them were together they would spend afternoons by the river, and Ellerian would read Quelila’s writing while Quelila would carve Ellerian’s bow. Ellerian remembered her being both an excellent carver and a great writer but then again she did tend to glamorize past relationships. 

 

But if these carvings were any indication, her memory was not tricking her; there were branches carved all around it, and flowers, and a few tiny insects such as a beetle and some honeybees. Some of the details in the soft wood had been shallowed or erased entirely through excessive use over the years. This was Ellerian’s first bow, and it was still the one she primarily used, though she had a shorter one for traveling, as well as an entirely different one, thicker but not longer, for hunting. 

 

She grabbed her leather quiver, which was colored blue, and filled it halfway with wooden arrows. After swinging its strap across her back, she swung her bow over her shoulder and ran down the stairs, taking as many as four stairs at a time with her slender legs, with no care or concern of falling, and ran outside. 

 

It was still a beautiful day, with only a few select clouds, puffy, white, and cotton-like drifting in the sky. Spring was a time of growth. 

 

Ellerian had set her Targets and had begun practicing. After around twenty minutes, the she-elf grew bored and decided it wasn’t challenging enough. She had reached the point of skill that, when there was a stable, unmoving target, she hardly ever missed. And that got boring. 

 

She was always seeking out things that were more challenging for her, even as an apprentice guard. She learned fast, her mentor had barely been able to keep up with her. She wanted to shoot further targets, wanted to shoot bigger arrows, bigger bows, once she had decided to attempt flaming arrows for herself and nearly caused a forest fire. 

 

Her superiors had been exasperated and overwhelmed and Ellerian had been horrified that she almost caused an accident like that to happen. Or at least she had been for a few minutes after they had put out the fire. After that, she was all too eager to tell her friends about it and laugh. Ellerian had always lacked . . . self-awareness. And she never knew the appropriate moment to laugh. 

 

It was an ugly flaw, to be laughing about potential tragedy. She was, at the very least, aware of that. 

 

Ellerian headed towards the forest to find more challenging targets. She looked around, pointed ears strained for any distant sound, any wicked whisper, or distinct, eight-legged scuffle of an angered arachnid. With the spiders getting braver every day, one could never be too careful. 

 

As she walked deeper into the forest, unsatisfied with the targets at the treeline, she noticed something strange. A sudden darkness, as if a cloud was covering the sun. But when she took a step back, she was bathed in golden light once again. Ellerian took the same step forward, cautiously walking further . . . it was ten degrees colder here as well. But when she looked ahead, she could see sunlight filtering through on the other side, giving her the idea that this was a single spot that was darker and colder than the rest of the forest. 

 

In the center of the spot, there stood a single tree. It was tall, and most likely old, and strong. She walked up to the tree, when she suddenly felt her legs becoming colder than the rest of her. She glanced down. At the base of the tree, in between its roots, a whispy, dusty, black smoke oozed across the dirt, like the kind of dust that emerges when one steps on a puffball mushroom. 

 

She took a stumbling step back, letting out a silent cry of alarm. What was especially odd about this smoke was that it didn’t rise, it simply drifted along the ground, horizontally. 

 

Ellerian put a hand on the tree, to see what it was saying and all she heard was the most horrible, creaking groan. The tree was sick . . . but not from any blight she knew. Her eyes softened in sympathy and sadness, it was an anguish-inducing sound that still echoed throughout her mind. 

 

She closed her eyes, leaning against the tree, when all of a sudden, the grating cry for help from the tree’s trunk was gone. The chill piercing her through her leggings was gone, and she felt the glow of the sun behind her. 

 

Ellerian opened her eyes. This part of the forest was now no darker and no colder than the rest of it, and the tree was calm, and made no noise. 

 

But the memory of the cold smoke stayed with her . . . 

 

And she believed it wasn’t her own mind deceiving her. She believed it had something to do with evil creatures becoming braver about invading her forest, because this was her forest, she had been born in it, she had sworn to defend it and she had dedicated her life to keeping those within it safe. She would die to defend it. 

 

Ellerian determined that she had to detect the spider nest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled on this chapter but I did get it done quicker than I expected. Thanks for reading, babies.


	4. Because of You I am Capeless!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellerian, Thranduil, Vie, and a few other elves head into the woods to hunt down the spider's nest and everybody is lying to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some action, am I right?

“I’m going to find the heart of the threat. And then I’m going to eliminate it.” insisted Ellerian. 

 

“How are you going to do that?” the king asked her as the two of them stood on the ledge, overlooking the forest at dusk. 

 

“I track well.” 

 

“Is there anything you don’t do well?” Oropher inquired. 

 

“I’m not much of a dancer.” she shrugged. 

 

The grey elf smiled slightly, but it quickly faded. 

 

“You’re volunteering to do something dangerous. And you’re indispensable.” the king explained. 

 

“I’m flattered.” 

 

“Why do you want to do this?” 

 

“. . . I’m afraid that the forest is . . . going to die.” she admitted. 

 

“. . . so, you want me to send you and a team of my best guards into the heart of a spider’s nest based on superstition?” 

 

“. . . I’ll only need five elves at the least. Eight at the most.” 

 

“And I won’t lose a single elf.” 

 

“. . . you won’t.” she told him. 

 

“You’re asking me to take a big risk.” 

 

“I won’t force anyone to come with me. They’ll have a choice. If I have to go alone, I will.” 

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ellerian-hest, if I let you go at all, I refuse to let you go alone.” 

 

“. . . there’s been reports of . . . orcs. Near dwarf country. I’d rather not deal with them as well as giant spiders.” 

 

There was a moment of silence between them. Oropher glanced down, and Ellerian folded her arms, staring at him.  
“How did you hear of this?” 

 

“. . . the Lady of Imladris and I have a bit of a . . . special relationship. She told me things.” 

 

“. . . you have three days. If you do not return by then, I will send a dozen more elves after you.” 

 

“You need to give us more traveling time. Five days.”

 

“Four.” 

 

“Very well.” she determined, turning her back on the forest. 

 

“And Captain . . .” Oropher began, as Ellerian started to walk away. “Please come back.” 

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

“Let me come with you.” Thranduil told Ellerian as she kneeled on her floor, packing a bag.

 

“No. The king would never allow that to happen.” 

 

“He’s allowed me to fight battles.” 

 

“This won’t be just any battle.” 

 

“As if I haven’t fought a giant spider before.” 

 

“Why are you so eager to come with me anyway?” 

 

“. . . maybe I’m worried.” 

 

“Are you?” she asked, pausing. 

 

“. . . more like bored.” 

 

“. . . if I let you come, I could lose my job. King Oropher barely let me come, let alone you.” 

 

Thranduil crouched down in front of her. 

 

“Then try and stop me.” he told her. 

 

“. . . this isn’t a very good idea. We’ll be leaving our regularly patrolled territory.” she ran a hand down her braid. 

 

“I’m not afraid.”

 

She looked up at him, her blue eyes vibrant and her expression serious. “I am. I know you’ve fought battles but I’ve fought more.” 

 

“. . . what makes this particular trip special?” 

 

“Something bad is going to happen . . . something very bad.” 

 

“Then you’ll need all the willing help you can get.” he told her. 

 

She sighed, her broad shoulders heaving up and down.

 

“You are stubborn . . .” she remarked. 

 

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Thranduil had told Ellerian he was going to talk to Oropher about him leaving. This had been a lie. He knew his father would never let him leave. 

 

So he told his father he was going to Laketown to visit a blacksmith, something he did often, and Oropher reluctantly obliged. 

 

He didn’t seem to think it was strange that he already was armed to the teeth when he left. A benefit to carrying a sword with him almost everywhere that he went. 

 

Ellerian’s team consisted of Vie, Caraidh, Juhulian, an elf from a foreign land along the edge of Middle Earth, a male Greenwood elf called Eleth, and a female Greenwood elf called Winn. 

 

“This is a bad idea.” Vie said. “We might just lead them back to the kingdom.”

 

“Vie,” Thranduil said, putting his hands on his hips. “Would it not make more sense to save your complaints and your questions for when we’re planning to leave a few days before and not when we are about to leave?” 

 

“. . . I only thought about it just now.” she mumbled. 

 

“Valar help us all . . .” he muttered. 

 

“Let’s go!” Ellerian announced, waving her crew towards her. 

 

And so they headed towards the forest, out of the castle’s bounds. 

 

The group formed a natural formation, with Ellerian and Thranduil in front, Winn and Juhulian a couple feet behind, Eleth, a loner, in the middle, and Caraidh bothering Vie in the very back. 

 

“Did you talk to King Oropher?” Ellerian asked Thranduil. Vie could be heard yelling at Caraidh in the distance. 

 

“. . . yes.” he lied. 

 

“And?” 

 

“. . . I’m here, aren’t I?” 

 

She didn’t seem satisfied but she didn’t press him with any further questions on the matter. 

 

“Are you sure you’re ready for this? I mean what if we do find the spiders?” questioned Ellerian, jumping over a log. 

 

“You sound unsure.” 

 

Ellerian made no response. He looked at her, taking a step forward in front of the captain. 

 

“Perhaps part of you is hoping we’re unsuccessful.” he said, in a questioning tone. 

 

“. . . I don’t know what to expect.” 

 

“Besides spiders?”

 

She fell into silence again. 

 

“Ellerian? Is there some kind of alternative threat?” he asked her, seriously. 

 

“. . . no. It’s just the damned ungol.” 

 

The team walked for several hours, with no problems, no unexpected encounters, and honestly that was strange enough as it is. When it was around an hour away from dusk, the captain ordered they make camp. 

 

Their campsite was a patch of woods, a clearing by a shimmering creek. Ellerian sat down on a rock, and pulled the tie out of her braid, combing her fingers through her hair, freeing it from its twisted bind. Then she pulled off her outer tunic, revealing the short sleeved white under-shirt. 

 

She dove into the creek.

 

“Why did you do that?” Thranduil questioned, standing on the side of the creek, watching her swim. 

 

“Because I can.” she replied, poking her head up out of the surface. 

 

He watched her for a few moments, before he started to turn away. Just as he did so, he felt a tug on his cape. He immediately turned back to her, and saw her jerk his cape forward. He fell towards her, and she grabbed his arm, pulling him into the water. The water was lukewarm, it’d been baking in the sun all day and honestly elves don’t get affected by temperature easily. But Thranduil hated water. 

“What the hell did you do that for?!” he demanded, standing up in the water, so it only came up to his thighs.

 

She just giggled. 

 

“Now you’ve completely ruined my hair!” he told her, stepping onto the shore, but the damage was done and his clothes were soaked. 

 

“It’s an improvement.” she said, knowing she was just saying it to create trouble.

 

“You are wrong and you know it.” he told her. 

 

It was enough to make him almost regret coming. He wasn’t going to feel the chill tonight originally but he definitely was now that she had made him soaking wet. 

 

“Calm yourself, Princess, you’ll dry.” she said, rolling her eyes. 

 

He just shot her a blue glare, trying to ring out his hair. His blue cape was sticking to his clothes now.

 

“Good to know we’re getting off to a great start.” she remarked, splashing the water onto herself, her eyes closing in pleasure. At least someone could enjoy it. 

 

He reluctantly took off his cape, hanging it on a tree branch. 

 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

When Ellerian was focused on keeping herself a float, and the chill of the waters, she wasn’t focusing on her worries. That’s part of why she loved swimming so much. Swimming, running, singing, any single one of her hobbies was a hobby of hers because she had learned to lose her mind in it. She loved being a member of the guard and she adored being captain of it, but being Captain Ellerian meant there was so much more to worry about. Not only did she have the responsibility of keeping the royal family and the citizens safe but she also had to make sure the guards were safe. 

 

It was her responsibility to make plans and formations that would be secure and successful. If a guard died in duty, Ellerian would consider it her fault. And yes, throwing the prince into the creek was just for the hell of it. If he wanted to do what a guard did, he might as well get the full experience. Ellerian had been tossed into rivers and lakes by her fellow guards many times. 

 

She held her breath and submerged her head under water, thinking about spiders, thinking about orcs and princes . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about these update times?!  
> I'm so proud of myself for actually getting things done.  
> Though I don't know when the next update will be.


	5. "At the End, We Must All Sink"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of singing, and not much action but it ends with cuddles.

The fire crackled as night had fallen. Ellerian, and the other guards sang over the roar of the amber flames. 

 

“We’ve got Varda herself on our side, filling our hearts with starlight, we are not afraid, or at least that’s what we say.” she sang, clapping her hands against her thighs while Vie played a lute, enthusiastically. 

 

Thranduil obviously refused to sing with them, he was still a bit bitter about being thrown into the creek. 

 

“Eru, put strength in our bows, power in our veins, we’ll pretend, if you’ll allow, that we are not afraid!” Ellerian and her posse sang in unison, pumping their fists at the heavens, enthusiastically. 

 

The guards had many songs of battle memorized, as well as ancient Sindarin hymns about the old gods. He knew that they had written songs as well. Ellerian said it was vital to morale.

 

Said songs usually were about bows and arrows, and hunting, and wars that ended centuries ago. Great battles that Greenwood would not soon forget. 

 

“We’ll build the king his gate, we’ll keep the mothers safe, shield the children from firey gaze, we’ll go to war, lock the door, we’ll kill, we’ll be killed but don’t ask us to say, don’t ask us to say, that we’re afraid. Cause we’re very afraid!” the song ended with a rush, and a loud strum of the lute. 

 

The song had had a cheerful tone but it was not a cheerful song. In fact it seemed quite depressing, given the circumstances. 

 

“How does that prepare you for war?” questioned the prince. 

 

“It makes you feel less afraid to know you’re not the only one.” said Vie, matter-of-factly.

 

“It gives us a means to express our feelings without actually doing so.” commented Caraidh. 

 

“It’s a good song.” added Ellerian. 

 

“I’ve never heard a guard song like that.” Thranduil said quietly, as Ellerian sat down on a tree stump. 

 

“Winn wrote it himself three years ago.” Vie said, smiling, gesturing to Winn, who stayed silent, the tips of his ears turning red with embarrassment. 

 

“It’s not even that good . . .” Winn replied. 

 

“If it wasn’t good, we wouldn’t sing it!” Ellerian replied, having no sense of voice volume, her voice ringing out into the forest, scaring off a bird. 

 

Vie started lazily plucking at the strings of her lute as the group continued chatting. 

 

The atmosphere had calmed, like water. The only sounds were the crickets, the lute, and the soft “hssshh.” of Juhulian sanding his bow with a piece of parchment, with a layer of sand tarred to it. 

 

“Does anyone know any other good songs?” questioned Ellerian. 

 

“The Balrog’s Song?” offered Caraidh. 

 

“Eru, no, like I want to send my guards to bed with thoughts of that beast.” protested the captain. 

 

“Ungol’s Blood. Quite appropriate if you ask me.” Eleth suggested. 

 

“Are all the songs you people know about monsters?” she let out a little chuckle, sitting back on her elbows. 

 

The group made a collective shrug, all except Juhulian, who kept sanding his weapon, eyes fixed on his work. 

 

“There is a song from my homeland . . .” began Juhulian. 

 

“Is it happy?” she asked him, sitting up, dried leaves sticking in her silvery hair. 

 

“Not very much so.” 

 

“Well alright. What’s it called?” 

 

“The closest common-tongue translation would be . . . ‘At the End, We Must All Sink.’” 

 

“I’m intrigued! Sing it for us, will you?” 

 

“Did you bring your flute, Captain?” he asked her. 

 

“Ha! I always bring my flute!” announced the she-elf, reaching in her brown, leather pack and pulling out a shimmering, silver flute. 

 

She blew into it, to blow out what little dust had collected inside it, then held it near her mouth, in proper formation. 

 

“Juhulian, I await your cue. I don’t get to play the flute often, so I’m excited.” 

 

Juhulian didn’t stop sanding when he started singing, low, full, deep. 

 

“Of clay, and minerals, and stone,” The sanding actually added to the rhythm, as he stretched his arms across, pushing the parchment across the wooden length of the bow.

 

“We rise and fall alone . . .” 

 

Ellerian began playing her flute, lowly and slowly, trying to match the tune, and Vie found a pattern of luting, where she would strike a few enthusiastic chords, every time Juhulian paused in his lyrics. 

 

“Of ants and worms, and fungi. We are born as we die.” 

 

No one but the singer was moving anymore. Ellerian was laser focused, breathing into her flute. Even Caraidh had gone silent. 

 

“I want to return to the ashes from whence I came. Because I think it must have been more safe. Will it be worth the bleeding, will it be worth the bleeding?” 

 

“We rise and fall in the same way. First we get rebuilt, and then disintegrate. I am a pile of blocks. Made of ice and rock.” 

 

Ellerian just kept playing the same few drawn-out notes because she didn’t know the tune. This song was definitely no song from Greenwood, Doriath, Lorien or Imladris. Vie had stopped playing out of pure shock.

 

“Strike me, darling, I want to return! I want to get reclaimed by the dirt! Because you do not own me . . . you only have me now. In a hushed voice I murmur, ‘I belong to the ground.’ The gods damned roots can have me! I’ll let them take me home, coil around my soul. I will choke on soil, and I will shiver beneath . . . because it’s cold under the ground with no coffin to keep.” 

 

“I don’t remember, but part of me still must, the undersurface embers, the mud forming a crust.”

 

“I must ask myself now, that I am very old, would I have come up from the ground, when I was still below? If I had known what it was like, if I had known how often I’d cry, if I had known I would learn what crying feels like? If I had known what I would lose, my father, my brother, my child, my mother, if I had known what life stored for me . . . would I . . . have dared . . . to breathe?” 

 

“All things must rise, and live must all things, then we close our eyes . . . and all things must sink.” 

 

Juhulian stopped singing, the song ended, Ellerian stopped playing the flute. She stared, stunned at the elf. 

 

“That was . . .” Vie started. 

 

“Well, I suggest we all head to bed!” said Ellerian, shaking her head. 

 

Juhulian merely nodded, picking up his bow. He, Vie, Caraidh, Winn and Ethel, headed inside the deer skin tent they had put up earlier. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Spiders had taken over Greenwood. Orcs had taken torches to the forest, and all was flame. Hell had broken loose. Caraidh laid bloody and dead on the ground, his limbs torn up and skinless, his face one of pure fear, swollen and pale, somehow at the same time. 

 

And he wasn’t the only dead guard. Dead guards laid everywhere around Ellerian. Ellerian had been unable to protect them, had been unable to protect Greenwood and everyone in it. Smoke clouded the air, choking her, choking off her screams. She felt her leg was broken but she couldn’t really tell. She was distracted trying to protect someone . . . who had she been protecting?

 

Then she heard it. Quelila screamed. She whipped around to see her burning, flesh melting, “Ai!” she shouted, reaching to Ellerian with a scorched hand . . . but Ellerian couldn’t move. Her legs would not move to protect the young elf. She tried to move them, it was as if she had phantom legs, trapped inside her real legs which would not move . . . 

 

Ellerian woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. She had decided to put them all in one tent, her included, part of this was to save them from having to carry the materials for more than one, and part of it was her own selfishness. The captain did not like to sleep alone. 

 

A big part of that was because of her nightmares. Nightmares like the one she had just woke up from. Her hands still shook from it, her neck was still slick from it. 

 

She much preferred to sleep surrounded by her comrades than to sleep in the big empty captain’s chambers at home. Sometimes she missed when she had been an ordinary guard. The only privilege she really appreciated from her title was having Oropher’s council more often. He was more likely to listen to her now. She took a deep breath, processing the bad dream. 

 

It had felt real at the time, the sight of Quelila’s cheeks disintegrating off her face, leaving soft, pink facial tissue exposed to the fire. She hadn’t had a dream like that in months. Perhaps Juhulian’s disturbing sonnet had triggered it. 

 

Ellerian closed her eyes, trying to go back to sleep, but soon enough she heard her ex-lover screaming in her head and she saw her guards’ broken bodies in front of her eyes amidst the blackness that came down upon her eyes when she closed them. 

 

She glanced around . . . who was closest to her? She needed to feel someone . . . she needed comforting, as hard as it was for her to admit that to herself. 

 

Thranduil was closest to her, laying in the very corner of the tent. Well, that was just as well. Her guard needed their rest anyway. 

 

Ellerian inched closer to him. She huffed, laying on her back, frustrated at herself. She lightly smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand a couple of times. 

 

“Thranduil!” she whispered. 

 

He opened his alluring blue eyes, which began to reflect a glaring expression at someone waking him up. He turned his handsome head, looking at her. 

 

“I uh . . .” she wouldn’t allow herself to tell the truth, that she couldn’t handle her own bad dreams, so she told a lie, the second lie she was telling him on this trip now. “I’m cold.” she said, in a subdued tone. 

 

“. . . and?” he asked her, irritably. 

 

“. . . can you . . . help me not be cold?” requested the captain of the Greenwood guard, shyly. 

 

“Why me?” he sat up on his elbow. 

 

“Because, you were closer. And I value my guards’ rest.” she confessed. 

 

“. . . how do you suggest I help you not be cold?” 

 

She squirmed even closer to him, so her mostly flat chest was pressed up against his torso. She was taller than him but not so much when they were laying down.

 

“Like this.” she murmured, wrapping two arms, incredibly strong and brawny from centuries of training, around his slim waist. 

 

He was more slender than her, despite training almost as much as she did. She figured it was a Silvan thing. 

 

At first he froze, not sure if he wanted to allow this, and they lay inimitably still in the quiet of the night. Eventually he laid back down, apparently giving her silent permission, so she curled up next to him, her knees touching his stomach, and her head resting on his shoulder. Though she had hardly been cold before, she definitely wasn’t now. 

 

Actually she was surprised the icey bastard ran so hot through his robes. She closed her eyes again, with a small smile on her face. He didn’t exactly hold her back, but he did keep one hand on her back, stabling her, and she was grateful for it. She was grateful he was letting her do this in the first place. 

 

All that really mattered was she wasn’t thinking about Caraidh’s corpse, or Quelila’s burns, or anything horrible for that matter. She wasn’t worried about a potential threat of an orcish nature, or the imminent threat that was of an Ungolian nature. All that was alright to worry about during the day, but at night it made her feel sick, and she got no rest.

 

She found herself wondering what time it was anyway. Through the holes in the patterned deerskin in the roof of the tent she could see moonlight, shining down, filtering through the holes and creating dapples of ivory light on the grass and on her clothes. It must have been past midnight . . . but the moon was too high up for it to be many hours past then.

 

She tightened her grip on the prince’s fine clothes and fell asleep. She was safe, and she was no longer afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I stressed over this one . . .

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this first chapter, I was kind of worried about this one . . .


End file.
